In the Arizona desert,
dawn to dusk, doves mourn
and cougars cool in the caverns,
and deer drink in darkness,
and vehicles stir up dust
and men in navy blue uniforms
and black boots step out
and march up the hill
and fire 21 shots into the hot air
and wildlife scatter
and scramble behind Mesquite
and Ironwoods and Palo Verde
and a sailor in white says.
Rest Easy Brother. 
We have the watch.

His father and brothers spread
sand-colored sheets on the roof
of the cabin where decades
ago, he and his siblings slept 
on downy mattresses long ago
devoured by portly pack rats.

We women charcoal chicken,
steaks and burgers on a grill
where he camped while the sun
paints Coffee Flats purple
as his thumb when he pounded
gold from rocks under the nose

of the giant Elephant Butte
with his brothers. His sons,
blond and dark haired like their father
at different ages, climb the elephant
with their uncles and cousins
as effortlessly as he did

and his ashes float like feathers 
until we women call as we have
for more than four decades,
It’s time to go home, boys,
and his voice vibrates
in the valley, I’m already home.

the bugle blows,
bags of brass, 
and flags change hands
in the sizzling sun,
as dusk descends, 
the blood brothers
sing and strum,

Hello darkness, 
my old friend,
I've come to talk
with you again,
Because a vision 
softly creeping
Left its seeds 
while I was sleeping, *

and a scorpion appears
on the ceiling and spirits
speak in a language
only we as a family understand.

*Sound of Silence, Simon and Garfunkel